


Nice One, Peter.

by happybeans



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Irondad, Wholesome Fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-04
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-23 00:43:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21311314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/happybeans/pseuds/happybeans
Summary: Peter screws up in a hilarious and fairly-menial way. Mr. Stark helps him clean up the aftermath. It’s wholesome and fun.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 15
Kudos: 133





	Nice One, Peter.

“Okay. So, I maybe screwed up. A little.”

He almost expects Mr. Stark to call him out on the language. He doesn’t. Peter draws in a breath when Mr. Stark slowly looks up from his project on the table, face blank.

“Okay,” he says slowly, “Explain.”

“Uh—” Peter swallows but hurries to say: “So, I know you said not to mess around in the gym alone, but FRIDAY said you were pretty busy, and everyone else was—”

He cuts himself off when Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow and cuts ahead.

“So, anyways,” Peter says, “I go in the gym, right? And I swear I wasn’t going to clown around in there, just maybe run for a bit? Or, like, maybe hit the punching bags a little? But then I saw Mr. Captain Rodger’s shield, and, um…”

Mr. Stark’s eyes go wide but he doesn’t say anything.

Peter finally finishes: “Maybe it’s best if you just come look.”

They go to look. Peter swears he doesn’t breathe for the entire elevator ride down.

“Oh my God, Peter,” Mr. Stark says when the elevator doors open up. “What the fuck?”

It’s carnage.

“I lost control of it,” Peter explains, face red and gesturing to the three heavy bags that lay sliced in half on the gym floor. Sand is still slowly spilling onto the ground from one, and Peter tip-toes over to tilt it back upwards.

Mr. Stark huffs a laugh as he looks around.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “You wrecked the gym—” Peter cringes. “but whatever; it’s just stuff. Are you okay?”

“Um, not really?” Peter says. Mr. Stark’s head whips over, so Peter corrects: “Well, no, I’m okay. But, uh, okay, um… I really messed up.”

He gestures to the far wall and starts walking Mr. Stark over.

“No,” Mr. Stark says, voice low.

“Yeah,” Peter says warily and with a cringe.

“No.”

“I am literally so f—so sorry. Oh my God.”

“Language,” Mr. Stark reprimands half-heartedly, not even looking at Peter as his hand reaches up to the shield. “How did you even manage this?”

“It’s stuck in the wall!” Peter says with horror, one hand clutching at his hair. “I tried to get it out—”

“Clearly.”

“But it’s, like, really stuck in there, Mr. Stark. So I thought I would try wiggling it a little, but—”

“I can’t believe you managed this.”

“I broke it.”

Mr. Stark is quiet for a second as he lets out a slow breath. “You didn’t break it,” he says finally.

“I bent it.”

The shield looks on, star bent at a ninety-degree angle so that half of it faces right towards them. Peter feels sick just looking at it.

Mr. Stark closes his eyes, taking a breath in and rubbing a hand over his face. “You bent it,” he agrees. Then his eyes open and his hand falls from his face. He looks at Peter as he says, “But that’s okay. We can fix this.”

“Can we?”

“Yeah, sure,” Mr. Stark says. “Probably.”

Peter groans.

They stand there in silence for a moment, just staring at the shield. Then Mr. Stark moves, turning on one foot and walking back towards the elevator.

“Alright,” he says, head pointed forward but talking to Peter. “Here’s the plan.”

Peter speed-walks to keep up and slides into the elevator as the doors are shutting.

FRIDAY starts taking them back to the lab as Mr. Stark continues, “Obviously the first step is to get it out of the wall. You ever used a laser before?”

Oh-em-gee.

“Um, Mr. Stark,” Peter starts, “Are you sure you should be rewarding me right now?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Mr. Stark says, and the dangerous tone of voice nearly catches Peter’s Spider-Sense. “We’ll find a way for you to make up for this.”

Maybe Peter shouldn’t have said anything. Woops.

The doors slide open again, and Peter steps out after Mr. Stark, following him as he slides open a few different drawers.

“Now, where did I… Ah-ha!”

He pulls out a small, black box, holding it triumphantly in the air. Then he tosses it over to Peter, and, mouth in a surprised ‘o’, Peter barely manages to catch it on the tips of his two fingers.

“Jeez, Mr. Stark, give a warning next time,” he says with a small laugh.

“What, your ‘Peter-Tingle’ couldn’t sense that coming?”

Peter groans, following Mr. Stark back to the elevator. “I told you we’re not calling it that anymore. I was never even cool with that name in the first place.”

“Whatever, fraud.”

“Wha—how am I a fraud?”

“The Peter-Tingle is not strong in this one.”

Peter doesn’t even know what to say to that. Star Wars references always win. He gives up the argument with a very teenage, “Whatever,” and Mr. Stark repeats the snark back.

Fiddling with the box then pulling out a small metal piece, Peter asks, “So how does this even work?”

Then his Spider-Sense tingles at the same time Mr. Stark says, “_Don’t_—touch that part.”

“Yeah, got that,” Peter says, eyes wide. He pulls his finger away from the first square button, probably the one you shoot the laser with, and plays with the other parts of it instead.

He puts the wrist-strap on then tells Mr. Stark that it’s kinda like those old Wii controllers.

“I am offended that you would dare to say that,” Mr. Stark says, though he doesn’t seem too seriously offended. “I’m half-tempted to take that back. No laser-time for you today.”

“Sorry, sorry, just kidding,” Peter says quickly, pulling the laser-pointer back towards himself.

The elevator doors open up, and they make their way through the room and back towards the shield in the wall. On the way, Peter practices with the laser, burning through one of the fallen bags with a quick swipe.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Mr. Stark tells him, not stopping his walk. “That’s your punishment.”

“Fair,” Peter says. “I was planning on doing that anyway, so it’s cool.”

“What I’m hearing is that you need a better punishment. Heard.”

Peter needs to just stop talking altogether.

“Alright,” Mr. Stark says, stopping in front of the shield. He looks around the area surrounding it then says, “Just cut out a couple holes on either side of it, maybe leaving two-inches of space.”

“Woah, wait,” Peter says, stepping back. “Can’t we just outline the little bit the shield is in? I don’t wanna leave a huge hole in the wall.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mr. Stark says. “We have to see what you managed to stick that thing into. Sadly, I think I already know. Make the cuts.”

Peter feels even worse now, but he does like Mr. Stark says.

Mr. Stark pushes the heavy pieces of the wall through the holes Peter cuts into it, and they both peer inside around the shield.

“Damnit,” Mr. Stark says.

“What happened?”

“You managed to get it through to the lockdown sheet.”

“The whomst?”

Mr. Stark huffs a short laugh. “The sheet of metal that closes in so nothing can get in—or out.”

“So like an emergency thing,” Peter summarizes, and Mr. Stark nods. “Dude, what is that thing made of? Isn’t the shield made of, like, the strongest metal in the world?”

“Confidential; and it is, at least for now,” Mr. Stark says. “But we’re barely halfway up the tower and the sheet goes all the way up. I’m guessing the weight was probably too much. Pfft, and you call yourself strong.”

Peter rolls his eyes but smiles at the roast. But then the smile fades. “Will you be able to fix it?”

With a wave of his hand, Mr. Stark brushes him off. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. I planned for something like this.”

Well, he probably doesn’t mean exactly like this, but Peter gets the point. “So, what do we do?” he asks.

Mr. Stark shrugs. “Cut it out.”

Peter reluctantly lasers a wobbly oval hole in the metal, going around the shield. Then he grabs hold of the shield, pulling it and the metal surrounding it away from the rest of the metal sheet tucked away behind the wall. The metal screech is horrible, but Peter does his best to only wince from it.

“Cool, let’s go,” Mr. Stark says, leading them both back to the elevator then up to the lab.

“Forget something?” FRIDAY asks innocently as they ride towards the lab.

“That’s enough from you,” Mr. Stark says. But his smile shows that he found it funny afterall.

They get to the lab, and Mr. Stark leads them to a metal machine on the far side of the room.

“Alright, set that in there,” Mr. Stark says, opening the top off the machine.

Peter sets the shield in, giving it an apology-pat before it’s locked away behind the glass. He stands there for a second, looking on as Mr. Stark puts a bunch of numbers into a keypad.

“Aaaand, there,” Mr. Stark says, poking in the last number with a flourish. He looks at Peter and explains, “Just getting it calibrated.”

Then he clicks a green button, and the machine turns on, red lasers flying across the machine to slice the shield away from the metal sheet.

“Cool,” Peter says as he watches, and he sees Mr. Stark nod from the corner of his eye.

They pull the shield out when the machine is done, and that’s when they realize a slight problem:

“Maybe I should’ve had you unbend it before pulling it out of the wall,” Mr. Stark says, holding the shield out.

Peter nods, and that’s when FRIDAY says:

“Boss, the rest of the team has arrived back from their meeting. Captain Rodgers is on his way up now to meet with you.”

They’ve run out of time.

“Shit,” Mr. Stark says at the same time as Peter says, “Zoinks!”

Mr. Stark tosses Peter the shield, and Peter catches it with both hands, eyes wide, as Mr. Stark struts over to the door.

“Shoot, shoot,” Peter says under his breath, attempting in vain to straighten out the shield. He sets it down on a wooden workbench to try to push down on it, but the table collapses under it.

“I swear, I will fix that,” Peter calls over his shoulder, but the noise of it makes Mr. Stark’s head whip over to look, and he stares at Peter and the wreckage with complete bemusement on his face.

And then the elevator doors open, and Captain Rodgers walks through and past the doors of the lab. And then he pauses, tilting his head.

“Sup, Cap.,” Mr. Stark says.

Peter wishes he could just disappear.

“Hello, Mr. Captain Rodgers, sir,” he says, standing up and holding the shield behind his back. “How was your meeting?”

“Is that my shield?” Captain Rodgers asks, stepping forward a few steps, and Peter, panicking and doing all he can think to do, holds the crooked shield out in front of him, saying:

“Wha—your shield? Whaaaat? No way! Could I do _this_ to your shield?”

And he holds the shield in front of himself, hands on either end of it, and puts his foot right on the pointed crook in the middle. Then he pushes, as hard as he can, and there’s a metal groan and pop as the shield bends back into place.

It’s still slightly out of shape, but Peter lets out a breath and looks up at Captain Rodgers with a crazed smile.

“Um,” Captain Rodgers starts. Then he laughs and continues, “No, I suppose not.” Then he looks at Mr. Stark and asks, “You made a replica shield?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Mr. Stark says, lying for Peter. “Call it a prototype.”

“Alright, then.” Captain Rodgers looks around the room one last time, tilting his head. Then he shrugs and says, “Well. I can see you and Peter are busy, so I’ll just…”

“Don’t go in the gym!” Mr. Stark says suddenly. Then he pretends to casually check his fingernails, adding, “We’re having some renovations done.”

“O-kay,” Captain Rodgers says with a shrug. “I’ll be around, then, if you need me.”

“Great, thanks!” Peter says as Mr. Stark says, “Whatever.”

And Peter’s apparently the teen here. Whatever.

Peter and Mr. Stark both let out a sigh of relief when Captain Rodgers re-enters the elevator and they’re left in silence.

“Welp,” Mr. Stark says, walking over to Peter. “I guess that solves that problem.”

Peter holds up the shield, looking over it. “Yeah, I guess so.”

They manage to straighten out the shield the rest of the way, and while it’s not good as new, per say, it looks about the way it did before.

They head back to the gym, Mr. Stark with more of his confidential metal and welding tools, and Peter with a broom and trash bag.

“I’m really sorry about the wall, Mr. Stark,” Peter says as Mr. Stark looks it over.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Peter hums, mouth sideways. Thing is, he’s still worrying about it.

But he drops the topic, sweeping up sand.

“Thanks again for helping me out here,” he says finally. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without your help.”

“Probably make things a thousand times worse,” Mr. Stark says with a laugh, and well, true.

“Yeah, probably,” Peter says, unable to help his grin. “Just…thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it, kid. Now get to sweeping.”

“Sir, yes, sir.”

**Author's Note:**

> Me: write A Series of Unfortunate Dates.  
Me to Me: write Irondad instead.  
Me: damn you right.


End file.
